


Nighttime Ministrations

by willowscribe



Category: Bloody Jack Adventures - L. A. Meyer
Genre: Character Study, F/F, First Kiss, First Time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-20
Updated: 2014-09-20
Packaged: 2018-02-18 01:57:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2330984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/willowscribe/pseuds/willowscribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Jacky, I was wondering… if I might kiss you.”<br/>“That you might what?”<br/>“You know,” Clarissa snarls. “Don’t make me say it again.”</p>
<p>--</p>
<p>Clarissa has to establish two things before making an important decision. Jacky helps in the best way she knows how.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nighttime Ministrations

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written a few months ago, but I never got around to posting it and honestly forgot it was on my computer in the first place. Now it's finally seeing the light of day! I know this is a small fandom, but we definitely need more Jacky/Clarissa love, so I figured I might as well post it!
> 
> This fic is crossed-posted on FF.net.

We’re lying tucked up in my bed, Clarissa nestled into my side, when I hear her whisper in the dark, “Jah-kay?”

“What?” I say, a little waspishly. It’s late and I’m trying my best to sleep.

Clarissa heaves a deep sigh, and I can feel her hot breath again my neck. “If I’m wrong in asking this, Jacky, then let’s please forget we had this conversation and blame it on an odd dream.”

“Clarissa, what?” I turn to face her, and we’re so close we’re practically nose-to-nose.

“Jacky, I was wondering… if I might kiss you.”

“That you might _what_?”

“You know,” Clarissa snarls. “Don’t make me say it again.”

“You already have,” I remind her. “On the _Bloodhound_ , see?”

“I _know_ that,” Clarissa says. “But it’s not the same.”

I think on it for a moment. Plenty of pairs of lips have crossed mine over the years, and more than a few have belonged to members of the fairer sex. I can see no harm in it, and it will get whatever’s stirred up Clarissa out of her system. “Fine then,” I say. “Kiss me, Clarissa Worthington Howe.”

Clarissa takes a deep breath, screws up her face (with determination or disgust, I cannot tell), and plants her lips firmly on mine. A moment passes and the contact softens; Clarissa kisses me more gently now, her lips moving to match mine. It strikes me how plump and soft her lips are compared to the thin, chapped, and sea-salty lips many of my sailor men have. As she kisses me, I taste some of the Pig’s finest wines on her breath, and I am certain that she hasn’t paid for those drinks.

When we break apart, she exhales softly and presses her forehead to meet mine. “I would quite like to do that again,” she whispers in the dark. Her hot breath tickles my face.

“Then do it again,” I say, and she does, _oh yes_ , she _does_.

Slowly our lips meet again. At first, it’s just a gentle kiss, but then Clarissa nips my bottom lip. I gasp at the sudden sting, and Clarissa’s tongue quickly finds its way into my mouth. She is as assertive in this as she is in every other aspect of her life, and I would expect nothing less. One small hand comes to rest on my left breast, quickly followed by another on my right. But she does not grip them tightly or harshly, as the situation would imply. She cradles them gently, rubbing at my nipples through the thin fabric of my nightgown. Other men I’ve kissed have gripped me there with a rather uncomfortable force, groping about confusedly. Clarissa does not. As she cups my breasts, I am suddenly struck with the image of Clarissa lying in her bed at Lawson Peabody, gently holding her own breasts, caressing them as she now caresses mine. The thought makes me surprisingly uncomfortable, like I’ve glimpsed something private I have no right to.

Clarissa is not uncomfortable by any measure. She gasps against my mouth and continues her onslaught; her hands move to the bottom of my nightgown and pull the fabric up, revealing my body in its entirety. I have never been shy in that regard, but as Clarissa assesses me, her hand gliding up my stomach back to my now-exposed breasts, I feel oddly vulnerable. My breasts are small, which I have never seen as a problem before, given that they allow me to masquerade as a boy fairly easily and they have never seemed to prevent men from wanting to touch them. However, I find that I am suddenly comparing myself to Clarissa’s much more voluptuous chest, and I feel rather embarrassed. Clarissa has the ability to make me second guess everything in my life that she touches – even, it seems, my own body.

Miss Howe, on the other hand, does not seem to mind the lack of breast she has to work with. Her fingers twirl around my nipples idly, occasionally pinching and twisting them in a way that makes me lose my breath. I can feel her pleased smile against my lips, but I can’t bring myself to stop her. Again, the image of Clarissa laying in the dark twisting her own nipples appears in my head. I will it away forcefully.

Clarissa suddenly peels her lips away from my own. I open my mouth to speak, but she hushes me with a finger to my lips. Slowly but surely, she kisses her way along my neck, hitting one spot in particular that makes me groan loudly, leading to her spending more time tending to it, sucking hard on the sensitive skin. “Clarissa,” I finally whisper, but it ends up dissolving into a moan and a whimper. Clarissa is grinning in the dark, I can tell.

“Yes, Jah-kay?” she says, her wicked delight clear in her tone. “Do you wish me to stop?”

“Damn you Clarissa,” I say. “No, don’t stop.”

“Gladly,” she says and dives back in, planting those soft lips firmly on one of my nipples and beginning to kiss it. Now I _know_ she didn’t do this to herself back at Lawson Peabody… but did she think about it? Or did she think about having one of the other girls do it to her? At this point, it hardly matters. _If Amy Trevelyne could see me now…_ I fear I may have to leave _this_ little adventure out of my next conversation with Amy, lest I drive her poor Puritan soul too close to damnation by association.

I hum contentedly as Clarissa moves her ministrations from one breast to another. Her tongue twirls around my nipple, and I grunt in a most undignified way. I imagine the look Clarissa is giving me – _really Jacky, how uncouth_ – but I can’t bring myself to look down at what I’m sure is a most arresting sight. I am certain that her tongue is gifted with magic powers, because no earthly tongue could make me feel such sensations. It is not just my breast Clarissa is touching. I feel a warmth from deep within my gut that is stirring in a way that I fear will soon overwhelm me. Sure, my idle hands may have ventured to my nether regions before, but I have never experienced anything close to what Clarissa is providing.

I spare a moment’s thought for Jaimy, but press those ideas aside quickly. I am still a maiden, and thus have honored our promise, but I do not know whether he is alive or dead. In this particular moment, I cannot bring myself to care.

Clarissa’s lips sneak ever lower, from my breasts to my belly button to my blue anchor tattoo, where she spends an inordinate amount of time investigating the colored skin. Finally, she slips her kisses to my waist, my thighs, and – _oh yes_ – my sex. Clarissa expertly finds the small nub that creates so much pleasure and attaches herself to it, kisses and licking and aggravating it beyond all reason. “Clarissa… I…” I gasp. I can’t help but look down. When Clarissa sees the direction of my gaze, she gives me a wicked smile and winks cheekily before diving back in, sucking and pulling on that wonderful, wonderful skin. As her suction grip on it tightens beyond what I can tolerate, I feel the heat within me let loose, releasing in a wave of pleasure that has me moaning so loudly that I worry that others may hear. As the rate of my heart slowly declines, Clarissa pulls herself back up to be face-to-face with me, pulling me in for one last kiss. I can taste myself on her.

“Thank you for that, Jah-kay,” Clarissa says, looking entirely unflustered. I am sweating and panting and am sure to be red as a tomato, but for once, Clarissa does not tease me. Instead, she pulls my nightgown back down, wraps her arms around me, and tucks her head into my neck.

“Why?” I manage to ask, my voice cracking slightly.

“I had to make two things certain,” Clarissa says. “I have been planning to join Mam’selle Claudelle de Bourbon, who you so kindly introduced me to, in New Orleans. I had to be sure my time with her would be happy and not spent lusting for men. I am happy to confirm, as I have long suspected, that men will _not_ be an issue.”

“And secondly?” I ask.

“Secondly?” Clarissa frowns. “Why Miss Faber, I should hope you know why!”

“Pretend for a moment that I’m a simple fool. Why?”

“Darling Jacky, you _are_ a simple fool. It was because…” Clarissa sighs. “It is because I have grown quite attached to you, and I had to make sure you knew that before I left. I know that you are promised to your Jaimy, should he ever return, but every man you have ever met has let you know of his intentions. I decided, seeing that Arthur McBride make a fool of himself today, that I might as well do the same… even if it means I’m just another statistic in your endless string of lovers.”

“Clarissa,” I say softly. “To date, you are my only lover. And I would not have it any other way.” I kiss her forehead softly. “Mam’selle will take good care of you. I believe you will be very happy in New Orleans.”

“Thank you, Jacky,” Clarissa breathes. “Now, can we agree to never speak of this again?”

“During the day, perhaps,” I agree, “but if you intend on sleeping here at night, we may as well make the most of your numbered days in Boston.”

“I can agree to _that_ ,” Clarissa says, and she snuggles into me once more.


End file.
